


light me up like a lightning bug

by CurlicueCal



Series: lightning bug au [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fireflystuck, M/M, Pale Companion!Karkat, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, gratuitous cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlicueCal/pseuds/CurlicueCal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Karkat is a Registered Companion, Eridan is his client, and Dave and Jane crash a party.<br/>-<br/><i>“Your display of staggering bureaucratic profligacy and waste impresses me so much, Ampora.  Seriously.  It’s like a beautiful mating dance.  Truly this is the foundation of good government.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly Duck's fault for bringing up the concept in the first place, but we're related and it would probably be weird for him to read this, so instead I'd like to dedicate this to all the people who egged me on on [tumblr](http://curlicuecal.tumblr.com). You know who you are. >:]
> 
> Thanks to [Asher](http://www.archiveofourown/users/dashery) and [Zims](http://theunvanquishedzims.tumblr.com) for beta reading and talking me past my shy-attack.

“Companion Vantas.” 

“First Ambassador Ampora.”

“I’m honored you could join me tonight.” You sweep your cape out and bend, kiss his hand, exactly the right degree courteous chivalry for your respective stations. It’s dashing and romantic. Also really freaking weird. There’s always this moment when you first see Karkat, exquisitely turned out in red and gold silk robes, perfectly complemented by tiered strands of intricately beaded jewelry, and he looks like a complete stranger. Some cute li’l lowblood you never laid eyes on before, done up into this faultless living sculpture of a Companion.

The lurching disconnect lasts only until your flailing consciousness hunts up the smaller details: the permanent disarray of his hair that can’t even remotely pass as fashionable or intentional; the slight, unconscious show of fang against painted lips as they quirk cynically downwards; the glint of sardonic humor in dark-ringed, mutant-red eyes.

There’s also the brusque way he drops his hand on your offered arm, claws sharp through your uniform sleeve, and all but drags you out of the entrance hall, completely overlooking the fact that you’re supposed to be guiding him. “My pleasure. Can we take dinner somewhere private? I’m about ready to chew off my own arms at the bone-bend for sustenance.”

You can’t even tell if that was meant to be a line. You have a theory that Karkat succeeds as a Companion by being so straightforward people can’t work out how to question his behavior so they just go along, blinking and confused. “Sure. I got a formal reception later but we can get an early meal in my rooms ‘aforehand.”

“Perfect.” His stride settles into a comfortable marching pace, matching your longer stride without looking hurried. It’s weirdly graceful. “This place is a fucking maze,” he adds a few minutes later, still showing no signs of relinquishing the lead. “What, did you have the whole building designed by drunken tunnelbeasts?”

“It was like this when we got here,” you say. “I dunno, the locals seem to like it. Very defensible. And it’s got its merits, stylistically speakin’. Sort a’ second dynasty. I think it’s goin’ to catch on big in a lot of the neighborin’ systems.”

“Right.” He shoots a dry look up over his shoulder, fangs glinting at the corner of a lurking smile. “And how often do you get lost trying to make it to the ablution trap?”

You catch your own lips curving up in response, even though being towed through the hallways grinning like a loon isn’t going to do anything for your dignity as a representative of the Beneficent Imperial Alliance. “I have a map,” you inform him. 

At least the handful of other highblood trolls on this rock are probably not up for the night yet. The only ones awake at this early hour will be the humans and the low caste administrative grunts who’ve had to adapt their sleeping schedules to the locals. Well, and you. But you’re real obliging like that, sacrificing your personal comfort in the name of efficiency and diplomacy and such. 

You use your free hand to adjust the elegant fall of your cape. “And we’ve got a lot a’ bathrooms, Kar. So many bathrooms. You could trip over bathrooms tryin’ to climb out a window. We could build the whole fuckin’ capitol building outta bathrooms if we rearranged ‘em and stitched ‘em together, that’s how on top a’ the bathroom situation this place is.”

“Your display of staggering bureaucratic profligacy and waste impresses me so much, Ampora. Seriously. It’s like a beautiful mating dance. Truly this is the foundation of good government.”

“I’m down over that way,” you interrupt him. Karkat makes a last minute turn down the hallway you indicate, the hem of his robes fluttering out dramatically. Your jealousy gland clenches with envy. He’s not even doing it on purpose. 

At the door to your suite you send the attendant off for a tray of food—what even was her name; you can’t keep up with these weird human appellations—and shut yourself in, pleased to put a barrier between yourself and really long work day. Leaning back against the door, you watch Karkat as he moves out into the room, assessing, familiarizing himself. That’s a universal Companion behavior—a careful check to ensure the security of a new environment, both for their own welfare and their client’s.

It’s an oddly comforting ritual, surrendering responsibility, opening up your private space. The care and attention he pays to your quarters is like the beginnings of care and attention paid to you. He prowls from room to room, eyes sweeping across heavily decorated shelves, fingers tracing the curved backs of sofas and plush chairs. After a moment, you leave the door and track silently along behind him, maintaining a distance somewhere between respectful and predatory. He checks the lock codes on the sole exterior window, runs a claw against the buzzing transparency field, and you can almost feel the touch.

Even when he snorts at a possibly-more-opulent-than-it-needs-to-be concupiscent platform and turns to raise a knowing eyebrow at you it’s perfect because it’s so precisely Kar. The same Karkat who used to tolerate your barrages of late-morning pesterlogs back when you were grubs and bitch you out for being “a self-focused grub-blind sad sack.” And the same Karkat who halts in the middle of the front room with his hands on his hips, looking as if he’s found himself on the set of a particularly poorly directed film and he’s the poor shmuck that’s going to have to fashion something tolerable out of it. 

You chuckle at him and he turns that focused, critical look on you, eyes narrow. That’s also perfect. Leaning a hip on an end table you let yourself bask. “So what brings you out to my neck a’ the woods, Kar? Don’t get me wrong, I’m real grateful you could make it, but you were kinda vague on the comm.”

“Mm.” He moves closer to you, almost idly. “The Calliope is doing some trading in the area. Off-loading supplies, picking up some of the local produce. I’m told you have a very good market in butter bugs.”

“That we do. But don’t tell me that’s the only business you’ve got all the way out here. I don’t get the impression that Crocker dame goes in much for safe, low risk, low return type a’ things. You got something unofficial goin’ on?”

Karkat hesitates, gives you a measuring look. You’re not hurt, not exactly, but you still tuck your fins back and put on your most innocent, big-eyed, ‘trust me’ face. He snorts out an annoyed breath and reaches up to tap you hard on the cheekbone, affectionate and warning.

“ _Captain_ Crocker has elected to assist Dirk’s brother with some twisty bit of trouble he’s got up his forelimb garment. I don’t ask. I don’t want to know. Anything that nookwhiffing ass sanitizer is involved in is guaranteed to be dangerous, likely to be illegal, and, most importantly, destined to be bulge-cringingly stupid in that particularly grating way that makes me want to puncture my aural canals just so my thinkpan won’t have to process the sheer awful.”

You blink. O- _ho._

Karkat seems to realize he’s let the conversation slip onto personal grounds because he draws a half step back, changing the subject before you can properly draw a bead on that particular bit of interesting. “Any business to take care of?”

There’s no particular emphasis on the words but they snap you serious in a hurry. You stand a little straighter. “No. It’s been dead quiet. Couple a’ my contacts have been by but nothin’ a’ interest.” You spread your hands in open gesture. “If I had to guess I’d say that business with the reavers up in Sector 04 is keepin’ hands occupied.”

Karkat nods, accepting this, and turns the subject to the reception to come. The tricky bit slides by just like that. You’re still complaining about the utter unfairness that is cross-species scheduling incompatibilities when dinner arrives.

“If operating on two different time frames is such a problem why don’t you get everybody on the same system?” Karkat asks with what you think is an unwarranted lack of sympathy.

“Humans aren’t real good at seein’ at night, Kar.” You give the pair of attendants setting out the trays a forgiving wave of the hand to show you don’t hold it against them. When you turn back from seeing them out the door Karkat is studying you with that pained expression that implies you’ve said something stupid and he can’t decide if the coming verbal teardown should be soul-witheringly blistering or just lightly scathing.

Which is a completely unfair maligning of your character seeing as he was the one who made the suggestion in the first place. “I got a bunch a’ lights put in for the city and such,” you defend yourself. “On the Imperial dime, as a gesture of goodwill, like. But this is an agricultural planet, Kar. It ain’t practical to expect the whole population to switch over to proper night operations. And the government can’t run on a completely different schedule from everybody else, that would be upright nonsensical.”

The pained expression is still there but it’s layered with something else you think might be fondness. He’s either trying to smother a smile or having a migraine. “Eridan Ampora,” he pronounces dryly. “If I didn’t know you designed ammunitions and read obscure cross-species military history tomes for fun I’d wonder how the hell you got your uniform pants on the right limbs every day without accidentally choking on a sock down the windchute.”

“Come on now, that ain’t fair, Kar. I been doin’ a right excellent job here. You don’t know how difficult all these people are bein’.” You squint suspiciously at him. “Why, what did I miss?”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head—he is _definitely_ smirking at you, the horrible traitor. “I think I’ll leave that as an exercise for the class.”

You scowl. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“And you’re supposed to feed me before I starve to death,” he returns. “Maybe we can take care of that sometime in the next half a hundred sweeps before I’m forced to resort to cannibalism.”

“Karrrr,” you whine.

“No, no, you can figure this one out on your own.” He leans right in against you and lays a hand on your cheek, smiling up smug as a purrbeast. “I believe in you.”

You blink rapidly, leaning automatically into the touch—warm, he’s always so warm—and his palm slides down across the plane of your face, fingers curling to trace your jaw bone. Your breath catches, your eyes flick shut.

“Food,” he says firmly, pulling away. “I am not even remotely kidding about the cannibalism. I will go straight for your soft, vulnerable guts and hollow you out like a grub cream bowl.”

You honestly have no idea how this guy keeps any clients.

The two of you end up reclining in your favorite chair, Karkat curled comfortably into your lap, taking turns offering up bites of food to each other from your fingers. Karkat somehow contrives to get twice as much as you, as well as all the best morsels. 

“Fuck you, like you even need it,” he says, when you point this out. “I swear you’re a foot taller every time I see you.” He twists his head against your shoulder to look almost upside down at you. “What the fuck do you highbloods do, mainline growth hormones siphoned from your oblivious fawning entourages?”

“I dunno, Kar, maybe you’re just shrinkin’. Bitty little thing like you. Pretty soon I’m goin’ to be able to pick you up and put you in my pocket. Pocket Companion. It’ll be all the rage. Wait ‘n see.”

He snarls at your smirk and you fold your fins back meekly and offer up another bite. Karkat accepts it, his lips brushing your fingertips, just the hint of teeth grazing against your first finger. His eyes lid and he hums a contented note. Then he nods. “Good. Offer tribute to your tiny god.”

You start laughing.

Karkat ends up getting the entire plate of fresh-caught, pan-seared fish to himself.

\--  
\--

By the third hour of the reception you’re wound tight, stretched to your elastic limits and well past the point where you can afford the collateral damage of snapping back. It’s not even one of the fun kind of stressful ones, something with high stakes and political intrigue and battle lines to draw. Instead, this is just an excuse for what feels like every bored, dissatisfied highblood and human politico on planet to corner you and bitch about everyone else. 

The emissaries of Her Imperial Complacency’s Beneficent Alliance think the local human government is obstructionist and backwards, the human politicians think the Alliance counsel is intrusive and out-of-touch, and they all think you’re doing your job wrong. You can’t even avoid them for long because when they’re not complaining to you they’re factioning off to take pot shots at each other, meaning that you have to run interference or you’ll wind up with even more shit to deal with later because you’ve apparently become auspistice for the entire planetary government.

And the whole backbiting melodrama plays out under a paper thin guise of perfect cordiality and civility because absolutely everyone is aware of the two subjugglators at the edge of the hall, smiling benignly over the proceedings from behind painted faces. No one wants to wind up in therapy.

Meanwhile Karkat, who is supposed to be making your life easier by playing social buffer and keeping you entertained and generally behaving as a Companion-type person, has instead opted to make your life miserable by formulating a dislike for one of the few trolls near your own rank who’s actually tolerable company. Pascal is sharp-tongued and funny, at least, as well as properly admiring of your status, and she doesn’t carp at you about political things beyond your control. She’s got some kinda social connections so she’s just passing time here until her inevitable better posting comes along. All around reasonable and not someone to add to your headaches.

Or anyway, you _thought_ she was right enough. 

Gritting your teeth, you grip the stem of your wine glass and try not to look outwardly sullen. Beside you, Karkat smiles and makes agreeable sounds and chirps empty-headed encouragement and the nature of Pascal’s social banter grows steadily more venomous and politically-charged. Karkat is honest-to-god _simpering_ and Pascal is taking the bait hook, line, and sinker and you are developing ulcers and paying way too much for the privilege. 

You cringe at a particularly appalling comment about the social decay created by more conservative culling policies. You can just about imagine what Karkat will have to say about that later. Certainly you were aware she could be a bit cutting and maybe had some old school opinions but you had no fucking clue about any of this. She’s hasn’t said anything treasonable—she’s careful to keep her comments restricted to generalities about lowblood inferiority and the need for caretaking and the highblood burden–but you're beginning to get a real bad feeling about her suitability for that arbitration job she angled her way into.

“It’s true,” Karkat says, nodding along to her latest point. “Making decisions can be so difficult. It’s really a miracle I survived to adulthood without help.” His tone is polite and earnest. His eyes are flat—polished red stones.

You grab his wrist. “This has been a real enlightenin’ discussion an’ all, but I’m afraid I need to circulate. If you’ll excuse us, ladies, gentlemen?”

There’s a ripple of nods and murmured farewells from the collected company. Pascal bestows a patronizing smile of approval on Karkat. “Ambassador, may I compliment your exquisite taste? I’ve enjoyed this opportunity to interact more with you. Perhaps we can speak more later?”

You show her your teeth. “’a course. I’m sure we’ll have opportunity real soon.” Mentally, you calculate staff reassignments and the most effective way to shuffle her off somewhere she can’t do any damage. You don’t want to offend her connections but you also want your first planet-side posting to go well. If nothing else, her assumption that you are an appropriate audience for these kind of’ politically precarious viewpoints is either unforgivably stupid or downright insulting to your character.

…God damn Karkat anyway.

Tightening your hold on his wrist, you drag Karkat off before he can draw this debacle out any further. He shifts to hook his arm into yours before you’ve crossed half the hall, leaning on your shoulder to say, “That was fun.”

“You are a terrible Companion,” you growl down at him in an undertone.

“Do you think so?” His voice is mild. His eyes are hooded and amused when he looks up at you.

Your heart bumps and picks up a few beats in your chest and your fins feel hot. You do your best to maintain an indignant scowl, but you suspect it’s not working very well.

Beside you, Karkat hums a low pleased noise.

“Terrible. Companion,” you repeat.

He laughs and takes off across the hall, dragging you with him, probably off to further terrorize your colleagues and reorganize your life. You’re still exasperated and stressed and overworked, but the knot of frustrated tension in your chest unwinds a tiny bit.

So of course you’re immediately interrupted by a deadpan drawl.

“Karkles, hey, fancy running into you here.”

Karkat goes completely stiff on your arm. You turn and inspect the rather unlikely looking pair of humans that has accosted you. The speaker is a lanky, slouching male, dark-skinned with that oddly pale hair some humans have. It falls around his face in short thick locks. You suppose the fluffy, overdone, candy-pink dress he’s arrayed in might be fashionable on some planet somewhere (— _maybe_ —) but certainly never with those tacky sunglasses. He doesn’t look so much like he’s wearing the garment as he’s pulled it over his head and now happens to be walking around inside it.

The human turns a perfectly blank expression on you. “Oh, hey, and you must be Ambassador fancy-pants, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Vantas will hardly make a peep about you and, let me tell you, it seems like there ought to be a couple paragraphs for the cape, at least.”

Karkat makes a furious hissing noise, like an entire angry speech has gotten tangled in his throat. You’re sort of impressed at how effectively he’s been rendered nonverbal. You’d be more impressed but you’ve just had a human dressed as a layer cake insult your fashion sense so you’re a bit out of sorts yourself.

Across from you, the human’s escort elbows him silent with practiced efficiency. You suppose if you hang out with this kind of douchebag you get good at that sort of thing. “ _Manners_ , Dave. So sorry to disturb you, Karkat, Ambassador.”

This human’s much more sharply turned out, with neat dark hair, perfect posture, and a slightly military cut to her well-tailored dress suit. Her eyes, behind her glasses, are a really inappropriate highblood shade of blue. But it’s the long, distinctly brown jacket on the not-quite-a-uniform that sends your eyebrow climbing. Fuckin’ cheeky broad, wearing that here. It’s not explicitly an Independence duster, but the hint’s impossible to miss. She catches you looking and her smile quirks up. Her pale face is flushed and pink with excitement but her eyes have a mocking humor in them. “Please don’t mind us. We’ll get right out of your way.”

You get the impression she likes how off balance they’ve made you. That won’t stand. You rally your best social smooth-talking. “Captain Jane Crocker, I presume?” You pull out your cape and sweep her your most dashing bow. “Your reputation precedes you.”

She hoots out loud, a bright, amused noise, and startles you by offering her hand. You bring it briefly to your lips. It’s hot and sort of damp, like human skin gets, and it makes you think a bit of decomposing things. It’s not like you’re some speciesist or anything. Humans are just real off-putting in a lot of little ways. You don’t blame them for it. But you’ve never understood how Kar can stand shuttling around with hardly any properly civilized company at all.

A second hand appears in front of you, white gloved appendage extended at arm’s length. You blink at the human it belongs to and he stares back, face unreadable behind dark shades. Accepting the hand blankly, you repeat your elaborate gesture. You can’t remember this douche’s name, assuming you ever knew it, so you murmur something vague. “An’ a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“What, Karkles doesn’t talk about me? I’m so hurt.”

“I don’t talk about you because it allows me some brief interludes of time when I can cherish the illusion that no such person as Dave Strider exists. What the nook-chafing hell are you even doing here?”

The Dave-human’s lips quirk up. His head ticks ever so slightly toward you and then back to Karkat. The smile turns several notches more insincere. “Socializing.” He draws the word out, adding on an airy human accent you can’t place.

“We’re just looking to make a few business connections,” Jane corrects. 

“Business, socializing… a lurid incestuous slurry of the two.” Dave shrugs, his tacky dark lenses still fixed on Karkat. “Same as you, really.”

Jane elbows him again. “Nothing to trouble you. This is a very nice event, Ambassador,” she adds in your direction. “I really like the anti-grav chandeliers. So practical. And very sparkly.”

“Uh. Thanks.” You honestly can’t tell if this chick is making fun of you. She has a very disconcerting smile. Polite. Sincere. But maybe like she could stick a dinner fork in your heart without blinking. 

“We’ll let you two get back to your evening.” She turns to her partner. “Dave, I believe you still owe me a dance.”

He presses hands dramatically to his heart. “Shit, Captain, I thought you’d never ask. Here I am at the edge of the ballroom, clutching my dancecard, wringing my hands, waiting all night for someone to sweep me off my feet. Take me away, and have your wicked foxtrot way with me.”

“Now, Dave, you know I’m only going to break your heart. And what will I tell your brother if I ruin you for marriage?” She offers her arm and he takes it, pretending to swoon against her, and the two humans head off arm in arm.

“Bye, Vantas,” blond douche calls cheerily back . “Have fun at your slumber party!”

Karkat’s claws dig convulsively into your arm. “Trip on a rock and die, Strider,” he snarls. It’s not his best work.

The two of you stand in beleaguered silence for a little while. Your day—evening now—feels like it’s gone on forever. 

“Remind me how much longer we have to be here,” Karkat says.

“’til eleven.” Which means you’ll probably have to talk to at least another dozen people. The oppressive bleakness stretches out between you some more, into the noise of the crowded hall. Your stress headache is coming back.

“You know,” Karkat says, “If we slipped out now I bet it would be at least an hour before anyone was sure we’d gone.”

...He’s really an excellent Companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst.  
> now with [really fantastic art](http://curlicuecal.tumblr.com/post/70838671135/eeeeee-curlicue-look-look-look) with thanks to really fantastic people. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that since some of you haven't watched Firefly you won't be familiar with the full awesome wonder that is [The Dress](http://curlicuecal.tumblr.com/post/67798170783/just-going-to-leave-this-here-for-reference-also). So there you go.
> 
> Also, for those of you that have watched Firefly, Dave is not Kaylee; don't be ridiculous. Obviously Jake is Kaylee.

“…and _then_ she said she already had plans, but she also told me I should come by her office later for the files, all kind of hintin’ like. What do you think a’ that?”

Karkat snorts, sparing one exaggerated eye roll towards where you’ve got your head in his lap before his gaze returns to the movie. His thumb runs absently along your horn, high on the chitin where you can only just feel it, mostly just rhythm and movement transmitted down along the hardened nerve structure, humming into your bones. It’s just pleasant enough to be reassuring rather than a tease, a reminder that he’s paying attention. Exaggerated mocking dismissals are just Kar’s way of trying to make you feel better about your problems..

The two of you have made a pile on the couch together, curled up in a motley assortment of intergalactic curios and pillows in order to gossip and cuddle and binge on a string of ridiculously cheesy movies. You chose the films and the activity specifically because you know he likes them and you enjoy being able to give Karkat something he likes. You enjoy being someone who knows him just that little bit better than most of his clients.

“I mean it, Kar, I think I could get something goin’ there. She’s definitely tryin’ t’ communicate an interest.” When he still doesn’t oblige you with a proper response you roll your head in his lap, nudging forehead and horn into the soft bare skin of his stomach where his robes have parted. Karkat huffs out a breath, his hand sliding lower on your other horn. It brushes the base and for a moment your eyes close and you bask in the heat and the touch and the intimacy of the gesture that sends waves of diffuse pleasure radiating out to your fingertips and toes.

Then he gets a firm hold of the lower curve of your horn and he pulls your face around until you blink your eyes open and look up at him, blearily cross-eyed.

“Eridan,” he says. “I’m going to say this in very small words so there is a miniscule chance they will someday penetrate that inch thick cranial plate of yours. She is not playing hard to get. She is not waiting for you to make the first move or expecting you to catch her interest or communicating secret messages to you via complex non-verbal semaphore of the ganderbulb or whatever else your dumbfuck bulge is telling you. She is just. Not. Into you.”

“Aw, Kar, no, you don’t even know—”

“No.” He gives your head a little shake.

You push your lips together. You’re too blissed out to really be offended, but you make a sad little wounded noise, fit to break a diamond. Kar is a cruel bastard so he completely ignores your martyrdom, his eyes already back on the movie, his free hand patting the pout from your lips.

“Shush,” he says. “This is the best part.”

You opt to watch him instead of the screen. His torso leans slightly forward over you, his eyes bright and intent, flickering in the changing glow of the movie. His thumb is back to stroking your horn. You feel soft and drifting, filled with reluctant pale affection for him, for the free play of emotions across his face, the way he sucks in his breath and just bites his lip and snarls a little at something on the screen. There’s a warm hand wrapped around the base of your horn, the thumb barely nudging the sensitive membrane there, sending little sparks of electricity glittering along your nerves, and you are weirdly at peace.

Karkat sighs out a noise of satisfaction at whatever’s gone down in his movie and leans back into the pile. “You’d only make her miserable, anyway,” he says, picking up the conversational thread as if he never put it down. “I don’t know why you insist on serially emotionally fixating on people that have nothing in common with you and don’t give a shit anyway.” 

“Hey! We got plenty in common!”

He gives you a flat look. “The existence of similar hemotemperatures does not constitute a symphonious union of the souls, Eridan. Anyway, what about that aide, I forget his name. Jorrim or something. Tall for a rustblood. Kept sidling up trying to chat you up about antique ammunitions all night.”

“Javrim?” Your interest is piqued. You try to recall something about the troll in question other than a gray uniform jacket and an earnest voice.

“That’s the one. If you’ve got to obsess dramatically over quadrant potentials why don’t you try him.”

You blink in what might be taken for bemusement but is in fact a thoughtful and considering manner. “But he’s—”

Dark-lined eyes narrow. “—if the next word out of your mouth is any variety of ‘lowblood’ ‘landdweller’ or ‘peasant’ I am going to yank out my intestines and knit them into a scarf to strangle you. Right before I gloriously off myself.”

“I wasn’t sayin’ anything, Kar. I got manners. Just how rude do you think I am?” Besides, you’ve called up his face now and it’s not half bad. Straight nose, sharp chin, and short, curved horns. And his theories about gunpowder packing are nearly tolerable. Not up to the caliber of your own, of course. “You really think he’d go for it?”

“Hrm. Maybe. If you can clamp down on your desire to make a completely desperate narcissistic spectacle of yourself for any detectable length of time.” Karkat untwists his contemplative scowl long enough to direct a smirk down at you. “He likes military history and seems to be under the delusion that you are in some way attractive. You already have two things in common.”

“Very funny, Kar. This is me laughin’. Ha, ha, an’ ha. Anyways, it sounds to me like he’s got better taste than some people in this room. Maybe I will try somethin’ on.”

“You should. It would probably be good for you.” Karkat’s hand locks down on your horn again, claws nudging along your scalp. “But you’d better remember the part where this one gives a shit, Eridan.” Twisting at the waist, he leans over you, subsuming your line of vision, your noses almost touching, lips a breath away. Red eyes glare straight into yours under darkly furrowed brows. “I am dead fucking serious. If you’re just looking for a lowblood toy, find someone who’s only interested in climbing ranks.”

You blink rapidly, let yourself go soft and heavy in his grasp. You tip your chin up a bit to show your throat. “Okay, Kar.”

He glowers a few moments longer. “Good.” His grip relents, and his hand slides down, running through your hair and behind your fin to curve around and cup your jaw. Warm fingers press firmly into your cheek. You hum softly, low in your throat, and lean up to rub your other cheek into his. Karkat shifts into the movement, nosing back along your cheekbone, tilting his head to let you nip at his earlobe. Your humming turns into a reverberating thrum, a vibrating buzz of contentment deep in your chest.

You dip your head lower even as you arch up higher, tracing your teeth down under his chin, along his throat, stopping to press your lips to the vulnerable skin. You can feel his pulse beating there, exposed, and you lace fingers up into his hair, holding him close. In place. He makes a soft little breath of a sigh. The moment is warm, safe, gorgeous; fragile in your hands as a glass ornament blown soap bubble fine; bright as diamonds. The trust that he is offering you is perfect, exactly what you need in some hidden, hungry core of you, and you hardly ever get to feel like this anymore. Not since you started growing into your full adult size, started moving up through the ranks of the socially and politically powerful.

You’ve never been subject to the kinds of outbursts or rages that sometimes plague the higher hemotypes but people still look askance at you, tread wary of your temper. Waiting. You can look ahead at your life and envision years and years and years of this and maybe that’s why highbloods snap; just to prove the watching eyes right. Galaxies ago when you were a just a wiggler, you remember dreaming of getting off planet and making something of yourself. Being more, better. Set apart. God you had no fucking clue.

You wiggle and roll, sinking into the pile until you can pull him on top of you, knocking a small avalanche of loose items from sofa to floor. Karkat balances over you, curled down close, one hand pressed in along your cheek and the other supporting himself on your chest, just above your gills. His open robes hang around you, picking up the light from the screen and casting red-toned shadows over everything.

He’s nose to nose with you again, his eyes half-lidded and fond, his lips faintly quirked. “We’re supposed to be watching a movie.”

“I’m watchin’.”

His lips quirk higher, showing off his short blunt fangs. “You fucking liar.” He taps a rhythm on your temple with his index finger, the heel of his hand pressing in just right and you thrum low and satisfied and pull him down close against you. He snorts again but goes willingly, shifts lower so that he can tuck his head up under your chin. You murmur and dodge short blunt horns.

“Shoosh,” he tells you again. His hand is flat over your heart. “Watch the movie.”

He’s so light. He’s so small. You don’t know how he can do this, trust like this, care like this, open himself up to people that could break him in a thousand different ways. You wrap your arms tighter around him, breathe in the scent of his messy hair. You’re so goddamned pale for him here in this moment you could die.

When the movie ends, you’re too comfortable to get up and put in another, so you lie together in the pleasantly dimmed room, listening to his heart beat against yours. He’s almost too warm, spread over you like a vaguely suffocating blanket, but you don’t want to move. Your fingers trace patterns on the silk of his robes, and you enjoy the feeling of bare skin pressed to bare skin.

“So what about those two shipmates of yours, crashin’ my party?” you say finally. “And that captain dame, wearin’ the next thing to a browncoat uniform. Some pretty big fuckin’ presumption.”

You feel his cheek twitch against the hollow of your neck. “Yeah, she does that. Jane’s idea of humor’s a bit damaged.” Karkat rises up on his elbows to look at you, points digging light into your ribs. “And Strider is not a fucking shipmate. He just shows up at random intervals every couple perigees and dumps some stupid idea on the doorstep like a decapitated meowbeast offering. I’m pretty sure he does this just to make my joke of a life that extra bit more hellishly unjustifiable.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Somethin’ going on there?”

“What?” Karat’s lips draw back in an appalled grimace. “No. No fucking way. Oh my shit-spewing horrorterrors of the black, I am going to have to power inject cleansing fluid through my auditory canals, straight across my thinksponge, and out the other side. No, no, and fuck you, no.”

Well that was convincing. You smirk. “That so? Because some random human shows up in a fluffy pink dress and you just about go incandescent. You really tryin’ to tell me there’s not a’ bit a’ black burgeonin’ in your spade?”

Karkat grumbles incoherently and then erupts. “He wasn’t even supposed to be here!”

“A- _ha_.”

“Don’t ‘a-ha’ me, Eridan Ampora. Keep your shitty misguided epiphanies to yourself. I can find someone mortifyingly insufferable without having anything but purest platonic hatred. That is a thing that is exists and is also true in this universe.”

Well that’s… hm. You consider him. “You know…” you say, and his eyes narrow. But you’ve got a point to make so you ignore the silent admonition. “It wouldn’t kill you to fill a quadrant, Kar.”

You can almost feel him mentally withdrawing from you. Like a shellbeast snapping back into its carapace. “Eridan,” he says, warning.

“Come on, Kar. You can talk to me.”

“That’s not how this works, Eridan.” His voice is clipped and calm, gone distant but not cold. He’s sitting all the way up now—still close, still straddling you, but emotionally he might as well be across the room. If you couldn’t feel the tension in his muscles you might assume he was completely detached, a professional reiterating the terms of a contract.

“What, you’re the only one that’s allowed to make with the dispensin’ of advice?”

“I’m a Registered Companion, Eridan. Not your moirail. We do this a certain way so that no one gets confused.”

You’re really not feeling too sure about being on your back in this particular situation, with Karkat looking down at you like you could be any stranger in a crowd, but you cross your arms over your bare chest and dig in anyway, glaring up stubbornly. “I’m not an idiot, Kar. But nothing’s sayin’ I can’t do a bit a’ listenin’ and troubleshootin’ just as a friend. Completely platonic-like.” Karkat frowns at you, opening his mouth, and you ride right over the top of him. “How long a’ we known each other?”

“…Way too fucking long,” he grumbles, but his demeanor softens somewhat. His lips twist wryly to one side, his brows drawn together, still sort of frowning. “You’re not doing yourself any favors here, Eridan. I actually _remember_ you at six sweeps.”

“I was a stupid fuckin’ fry, Kar. I like to think I’ve done at least a bit a’ growin’ up since then.”

“Hrm. Maybe.”

You recognize a concession of defeat when you hear one. You flash your fangs at him and take full advantage. “So tell me about how you’re not waxin’ black for the douche-tastic wonder in pink.”

“Nothing to tell,” he maintains, arms-crossed and stubborn. “Seeing as that is a delusion that exists entirely within your own sad little mind. And humans don’t do quadrants.”

“I don’t know, from what I hear—“

“—humans don’t do quadrants,” he reiterates through his teeth, “and I am _not looking for a relationship._ ”

That puts you right back to frowning. “Kar, just ‘cause you’re not allowed to turn in a pail doesn’t mean no one’ll ever be willin’ to make a bit a’ a allowance and take a shot—“

“Wow, I suddenly completely remember why I was not going to have this conversation with you.”

“What? I’m just sayin’. A human might be good for you.” 

Karkat pauses, sitting back a little farther to stare and blink at you for several long moments.

“What?” you ask again.

“Nothing. I’m just so fucking astounded you found something positive to say about cross-species relationships I can’t figure out whether I should praise you for managing to scrape together a tiny crumb of progressive thought or succumb to the grim probability that you just have that low an opinion of me.”

“I got a great opinion a’ you, Kar. And what are you talkin’ about?—I’m as progressive as anything.” 

“Eridan,” he says. “You _do_ progressive. Sometimes. In miniscule but probably measurable increments. You don’t _think_ progressive.” You open your jaw to protest that diminishing of your capabilities and he smushes his hands across your mouth. “Trust me. This way’s baffling and counterintuitive but arguably more impressive.”

You glower suspiciously up at him. He’s got that fond, aggrieved expression on again, just the edges of his lips curving as he looks down at you. You shake his hands off and opt for a dignified turning of the conversational tables.

“Right. Leavin’ aside this fascinatin’ if completely unverified analysis of my inner workings let’s talk about your dysfunction.”

“Or we could be really intrepid and take the subject of douchebag assholes off the table altogether.”

You’re not sure if he just insulted you, himself, or the human but if you let yourself get sidetracked by Karkat’s digressions you’d probably never get anywhere. “You’re really not feelin’ even a smidgen caliginous for the human asshole?”

“I believe I’ve established that point pretty goddamned clearly, yes. Would you like me to needlepoint it onto a throw pillow for you?”

“Fine, all right,” you acknowledge. “If you say so.” You push your lips out. “...Karkles.”

Karkat makes a startled choking sound that turns into a noise like an enraged lawnring grater, ten claws leaving puncture marks high on your waist. “I will pull every single one of your thorax struts out through your chest cavity and fashion them into a musical instrument. I will use this instrument to celebrate your gory demise. I will throw a fucking corpse party, so help me, Eridan Ampora, do not start with me.”

You smirk at him, triumphant and smug. “Just checkin’. I wouldn’t want to misconstrue your feelin’s on the matter, Kar.”

He scowls at you. “There are no feelings. None. In either direction.”

“I dunno, seemed like he was black-flirtin’ pretty hard to me.”

“No, he’s just…like that. I told you, humans don’t do quadrants. They don’t really get…” he waves a hand vaguely around, “…this. I swear to fuck I have explained concupiscent versus conciliatory relationships in excruciating detail about a million fucking times and I think half of them still think this is some sort of magical twee tea party I throw for make believe and funsies. And the other half think I’m in here with my bulge up your nook pailing you stupid!” 

“Uh.” Your brain goes to a really unfortunate place. You’re suddenly all too aware of his legs around your waist, his hands on your skin, and for all the wrong reasons. Your fins, flared out wide in a sort of surprised-interested alarm, feel like they might flame right off your head.

Karkat stares at you. He raises one eyebrow. “...Really.”

You squinch your eyes shut in mortification. “Shut up, you’re confusin’ me!”

He’s laughing at you, you’re absolutely sure of it. ”There, there,” he says, not unkindly, papping you quick and brisk on the cheek. “Shoosh.”

“I fuckin’ hate you,” you grumble. It’s helping though. Karkat’s hands are made of magic. They probably shouldn’t even exist. Not existing sounds really fucking appealing right now. “They really think that?” 

“They’re all romantically depraved. Try not to think about it. I’m pretty sure paying attention to them only encourages them.”

“Fuckin’ hell. There’s quadrant-vacillatin’ and quadrant-smearin’ and then there’s ‘get your ass hauled straight off to therapy for bein’ a social deviant.’”

“Aliens get special allowances within their own mating structures. Otherwise the subjugglators would have to detain entire star systems.” Karkat displays his teeth in a grin. “Remind me to tell you about cherub biology sometime.”

“Oh god,” you let your head drop back to the pile. “I forgot you were travellin’ with some sort a’ alien cast off bin.”

Karkat shrugs. “We get on. Can’t say it’s not a bit of a madhive most days.” He looks… fond. You find yourself torn between bafflement, vague jealousy, and a sort of vicarious echo of his pleasure—it’s nice to see him genuinely content. You just don’t understand it.

“I guess,” you say. His hand has wandered off your cheek, tracing idle shapes across your collar and shoulder.

“Hey,” he says after a while. “You ever hear of a subjugglator leaving Service?”

“What, going AWOL?” You rouse yourself from a sleepy sort of haze. “One a’ them? Not on your life, Kar.” You find that your hands have wandered up onto his hips and you consider this an entirely agreeable situation. “Why, you got someone feedin’ you a line?”

“No. I just… wondered. It was a stupid idea. Roxy brought some fucking Shepherd aboard as a passenger and he’s weird as hell.”

“An’ you were thinkin’ he might be a subjugglator? Fuck, Kar, you know how they feel about cultists.”

“I know, I fucking know. Past-me is a grub-licking shit-for-brains moron. Whatever. It’s just some weird-ass, painted face highblood, way the hell up the hemospectrum, running around playing happy-magic-rainbows-in-space-time. Nothing to see here, move along.”

“Wait, he’s wearin’ subjugglator face paint?”

“No, some other weird shit. Anyway, the guy’s way too touchy-feely mellow to actually be a subjugglator. He’s a straight up fucking mess, Eridan. He could probably trip over his own nub-cover-string and wind up apologizing to it and asking it home for cookies. And I swear to fuck he’s _eating_ sopor.” Karkat’s got one hand in his hair and the other gesticulating wildly and your weird mixed emotions are back because he’s sort of sounding really fucking pale. Also he’s kind of painfully adorable when he’s worked up over something and you’re in a pile with him and nobody ever gave you a script for how to deal with this particular situation, right?

Karkat scrubs his hand across his face. “Just. Sometimes I get a weird vibe. Like, some bandits got onto the ship once and I could swear to fuck he pulled a textbook subjugglator move on their gunman. You know the way they do, when they slip up behind you before you even know they’re there? Fucking creepy.”

Okay, now you’re starting to get alarmed. You push up on your elbows. “Kar, that’s not—I don’t like that. He’s way more likely to be some kind a’ imperial plant than anything else. You have to be careful. What if—“

Karkat interrupts you. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’m just making up stupid wiggler stories. He’s some eccentric mess of a highblood that burned his pan out with one too many pie tins of corrosive chemicals and that’s it. Mystery solved.”

You struggle the rest of the way upright, until you’re seated in the pile with Karkat straddling your lap. His hands are on your shoulders. “Kar, you shouldn’t be travellin’ with that kind a’ person. It’s an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s _fine_ , Eridan. And it’s Jane’s decision who goes on her ship.”

“Jane doesn’t know—“

“Let it go, Eridan.”

You cross your arms and frown at him, angry and helpless. “This is real dumb, Kar.”

“You’re not my moirail, Eridan,” he says, but gently. He pats at your shoulder and when you shake off the gesture he captures your face between his hands. “It’s fine. I actually do know how to take care of myself.”

“...a’ course you do.” You sound bitter. The heels of his hands are warm on your jaw, his fingers tucked back under your fins and into your hair. You reach up and wrap your hands around his wrists. “Kar. How come you won’t do relationships for real?”

He tries to pull away and you hang on, giving him only a few inches. 

“I’m not anglin’ to fill a quadrant here, Kar. But it don’t make sense. You’re good at this. You care. You can’t tell me that just switches on and off.”

Karkat’s hands, caught between you both, clench and unclench. He huffs out an unhappy breath and finally meets your eyes. His expression is angry and a little tired but mostly determined. “Of course I care. I couldn’t do this job if I didn’t pity the clients I chose at least a little. But what I do is a temporary convenience. You don’t need me. I might make your lives a bit easier every now and then, but if I never showed up or never came back you’d all go on with your lives perfectly well.” He turns his hands in yours, pushes yours back into your space. Gentle but firm. “You don’t rely on me.”

You stare at him for a very long moment, trying to wrap words around the feelings going through you. Oh, right. “That is probably the dumbest, saddest thing I ever heard said.”

Exasperation overtakes Karkat’s face. He growls. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not actually looking for your fucking validation, you overgrown aquatic throwback.”

“It’s an excellent thing ‘cause you’re not going to get it.”

He goes to yank your fins and you twist and topple him off your lap, roll over on top of him, the pile scattering as you both try to get the upper hand. You can tell he’s not really mad because he’s careful of your gills, keeping his claws confined to your back. There’s a reason ancestral seadwellers stuck to polearms and distance weapons. The tussle loses any semblance of direction quickly, devolving into something more playful. Nips and chirps and growls punctuate scrambling limbs as you squirm and toss.

You do get him pinned under you, but it’s only a technical victory because he’s got hold of your fin after all, teeth just threatening the membrane between the lower tines, latched on like an angry barnacle. Assuming barnacles had neat rows of short, blunt, perfect fangs. Stilling, you pet apologetically at his cheek and neck, and his growl buzzes a bit sharper under your fingers before tapering off. 

He releases the fin reluctantly, pausing to lick at the marks left by his teeth. 

You chirp again and sigh, turning your head to rub your cheek down along his, nuzzling skin along skin until the last vibrations of his growl cross over to a purring thrum. When you pull back, Karkat remains, looking up at you, sleepy-eyed and sweet in your grasp, and your veins feel all lit through with diamonds. 

“Kar.” You’re probably crossing the line, but it’s Karkat’s job to keep track of that kind of thing and call you out when you go too far, and he never holds you against yourself anyway, so you go ahead and lean back in, look at him serious. “I think someone would be upright lucky to rely on you.”

He stills. You watch a slow tide of color creep over his face.

You’re expecting it when he scowls and shoves you right off the couch, so you don’t really mind. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad. Or, like, he’s just mad in a Karkat way which is the way where he has too many emotions and doesn’t like any of them. You'll let him make it up to you later when he’s stopped fuming with outraged self-consciousness. 

All in all, it’s a good day. 

Night, whatever.

\--  
\--

It’s late morning when you see Karkat off. You did manage to snatch a few hours of sleep together, but you’ve still spent more of the past 48 hours awake than unconscious, the sun is unpleasantly bright, and you don’t care how much work you have piling up, you’re heading back to your rooms and getting a few hours of proper daytime rest like a normal troll. You’ve just turned the last corner when you see a troll you don’t recognize slipping out the door to your suite. Every territorial instinct kicks into overdrive, your senses snapping into full on alarm mode. You pick up your pace, hand going to your laser pistol, and step out into the path of the figure as it makes to brush past you.

The head comes up just as you place the familiar curl of her horns. You are treated to a wide, bright, really fucking unnerving smile. The kind you’d expect to see on a very cheerful snapbeast.

“Just freshening the block for you, sir.”

Aradia. Right.

You try to summon a semblance of wits and composure. “Uh. Right. Carry on.”

She bobs a curtsey (— _why?_ Not even the human attendants curtsey, this isn’t a fucking fifth dynasty novel—) and trots off down the hall, dark curls bouncing.

You eye the door to your rooms with newly spawned mistrust.

It takes you two minutes to find the drop, seven minutes to labor through the decryption process—thank you so fucking much, Captor—and three minutes to re-encrypt the files and burn them onto a clean datastick. Then you dart out the door, grabbing a random curio off the nearest credenza on the way out.

You don’t want to appear in too much of a hurry, so it takes you another seven minutes to catch up to Karkat, out on the busy thoroughfare beyond the capitol’s gated plaza. The swirling red silk of his sleeves makes a pretty easy beacon to spot in the crowds, his arms waving in animated reinforcement of whatever point he’s making. Beside him, the human douche from the reception ambles along, hands tucked in the thick, well-worn gun belt hanging comfortable on his hips, posture bored. You don’t miss the way his head tilts toward Karkat though. Definitely something going on there. You are never letting Karkat criticize your keen emotional perception again.

The dark, potentially tolerable face is still in the thrall of those tacky sunglasses but he’s traded the out-of-style party dress for a workmanly shirt and pants, pretty typical fare for the low caste humans that flock in and out of the shipyards around here. On the other hand, he’s also got an honest-to-god sword strapped to his back. It’s not even a dueling rapier or a dress sword or anything but some shitty old-world human design you think was called a katana. It’s affected as hell.

You’re going to assume this guy is incapable of dressing like anything other than an insufferable prick. He’s probably perfect for Karkat.

You’ve got more to attend to than Karkat’s quadrant potentials, however. Taking off through the crowd, you scatter people aside until you get within earshot. “Kar!”

He turns at the hail and circles back when he sees you waiting for him. Human-douche trails along after him. “Is something the matter, Ambassador?” Karkat asks.

“You forgot your, ah—“ you glance at the small statue in your hand— “ceremonial fertility wizard.” Shit, you kinda liked that one. You picked it up on one of your first off-planet tours.

Karkat blinks twice at the object, but catches your drift without missing a beat. “Oh, yes. Thank you. I would certainly fucking hate to be without my wizard.” His tone is so perfectly deadpan you have to scowl and bite the inside of your cheek. He accepts the statue, every bit the refined Companion when he smiles and adds, “That was very considerate of you, Ambassador.”

The human, previously content to linger sullenly in the background, picks this moment to barge into the conversational space. Stepping forward, he leans an elbow on Karkat’s shoulder. “Wow, this is super enthralling and all, I am glad I got to be a part of this moment, really, but if we’ve got the gripping saga of your secret bearded-dude infatuation thoroughly resolved can we get back to the ship?” 

You bristle--he hasn’t even glanced at you--and interject stiffly. “As a matter a’ fact, I got a bit more business with Companion Vantas, if you don’t mind.”

The human turns to you with overacted surprise. “Shit, I don’t mind. Didn’t know y’all got up to that in public, but sure, whatever gets your rocks off, I don’t judge, chase the dream and don’t you ever let any pesky decency regulations stop you from doing you. I am not the guy to get between a man and his business. In fact, I will leave the business handling strictly to the professionals, my license and registration is at home in my other bathrobe, it’s a tragedy but what can you do.” He pauses for breath and you hope he’s done. He leans conspiratorially into Karkat’s space instead. “Karkles, you kinky bastard, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Karkat takes a swipe at him snarling a string of curses. The human dances back, hands tucked idly in his belt again, somehow contriving to looking entirely too pleased with himself with just the barest quirk of his lips.

Look, you don’t care what Kar says about humans and quadrants; this is embarrassing for both of them. Also, no one is paying attention to you once again. Unfair. Also rude.

Karkat has broken off his tirade in order to pull on his collected, better-than-you Companion facade and the human is feigning bored disinterest again, and it’s all just completely uncalled for levels of ridiculous. You decide to take matters into hand.

“Kar.” He turns back to you, expression politely apologetic. You take both of his hands and lift them dramatically to your heart, putting on your most soulful face. “I hope you’ll consider my offer,” you tell him. 

“I…?” Karkat masks his confusion pretty well, but you can see him scrambling to catch up with the script again. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he ventures blankly.

“Of course,” you say solemnly. “But please think it over. You should be with people who appreciate you.” Karkat’s had time to palm the datastick, vanishing it up the sleeves of his robes, so you use your hold to step in closer, moving right into his space. “You should stay here. There’s a place for you.”

The ‘what the fuck?’ is beginning to show through on his face so you help him hide it by pulling him the rest of the way into your arms, hands at waist and shoulder, nuzzling in close. Karkat’s hands go to your own shoulders almost automatically. He presses against you, cheek brushing along your jaw as he leans up to breath in your ear. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping,” you murmur back, cheerful. You brush lips and nose along the curve of his ear, flicking a glance over his shoulder. You smirk. “You oughtta see the look on your boy’s face right now.”

Karkat’s breath makes a funny little hitching noise. The ear you’re nuzzling warms, blood rushing in. The side of his face feels like a little furnace. “I am going to bite you,” he informs you in venomous undertones.

You hum contentedly into his hair and take the opportunity to slide your hand further down the curve of his waist.

“Two. Seconds.”

You back off fractionally, give him some space. 

Karkat glares up at you from inches away, red and flushed, hair even more mussed than usual. “One of these days,” he says softly, through gritted teeth, “I am going to rip out your respiratory sacs.”

“You like me,” you say smugly.

“God knows why.”

You steal one last nuzzle, brush your lips lightly across his, and withdraw before he can make good on his threat to bite you. You take two polite steps back. “Have a pleasant journey, Companion Vantas.”

“Thank you kindly, Ambassador Ampora.” His tones are so perfectly polite you almost wonder if you’ve got a shot at something black. 

…Probably not.

You turn your eyes casually toward the human and find his fixed, just slightly too-expressionless expression to be everything you could have hoped it would be. It’s hard to tell against his dark skin, but you think he might be blushing.

Good. That should give them both something to think about.

“Pleasure running into you again,” you tell human-douche brightly. You _still_ can’t remember his name, but it doesn’t matter because you don't really care and also you think you may have rendered him speechless. God damn you are so fucking good at this. You win at everything. Or at least match-making. Anyway, you got some extra time with Kar. And you got the asshole back for his comments about your character and wardrobe.

Before anyone can recover their wits and steal your victory, you give them a final wave and turn to stride off, your cape flowing out dramatically behind you.

You are going to sleep the sleep of the just. And the thoroughly piled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun! If you have a burning desire for me to talk your ear off about all the things I accidentally now know about this verse and Jane's crew feel free to come say hi on tumblr. :D
> 
> ...yeah, I'll probably wind up writing in this verse again.


End file.
